The grotto seemed no less intimidating on our second visit and I was only marginally reassured when Emma reached for my hand, intertwining our warm fingers together. I squeezed Emma’s hand, the sharp bite of her nails against my palm a welcome reminder of her presence. Emma was my best friend, and I knew she’d offer unconditional support no matter how crazy things got.
The continual dripping of water from the roof into the small lake at our feet was both soothing and strangely foreboding. I followed Perrault through the grotto, his lamp creating a soft arc of light which continually grew and shrunk as the lantern swung back and forth in time with his footsteps.
When the seven pedestals appeared out of the gloom, I shivered when I saw the one devoid of a statue. Was I doing the right thin
